Things Lost
by Malvolia
Summary: You can't be the smartest witch of your age and not accumulate a few regrets along the way...and you can't love the smartest witch of her age without wanting to ease them. Ron/Hermione, a few years after Hogwarts.


Ron flailed, lost his balance, and tumbled to the ground, pulling half the blankets with him in the process. He pushed himself into a sitting position and shook his head, trying to clear the muzziness and figure out why he was down on the floor.

Several thoughts presented themselves in quick succession as he looked around.

_Where's Harry's bed gone to? This isn't my flat. Hang on…it_ is_ my flat, I've moved. And I don't live with Harry anymore, I live with…._

His eyes landed on his shiny new wedding band just as his ears registered the sound that had jolted him awake and out of bed: screaming.

"Hermione!" he said urgently, wriggling loose from the blankets and climbing up beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, and she shook off his hand in confusion.

He wondered how long it would take for her to get used to the idea that they were married and that they now shared a bed. He'd been shaken off several times already over the past few weeks, which was generally amusing because she was so immediately apologetic once she came to, but right now….

"Hermione, love, wake up…it's a nightmare, wake up, I'm here, it's okay…."

"Oh," she said, suddenly clinging to his arm. "Ron. I'm…" She couldn't even get out her customary apology. Instead, she threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.

A surge of pride and compassion welled up inside of him. Hermione Granger, best witch of her age—her era—needed him. That feeling was never going to get old. He tightened his arms around her.

Hang on.

Hermione _Weasley_.

"I'm here," he repeated, a promise and a prayer of gratitude. "I'm here."

She didn't tell him what was wrong, and in the morning when her eyes were puffy from crying herself back to sleep, he didn't mention it. He had figured out that sometimes when there was something bothering her she wanted to be asked, and sometimes she wanted to pretend nothing was wrong.

He hadn't yet figured out which time was which, and the unfortunate thing was that the longer he went without asking, the more awkward it felt when he thought about asking. Hermione was morose and thoughtful all day, studying her Magical Law Enforcement books more intensely than usual.

It wasn't something he had done, he was fairly certain. He'd been glancing at her at odd intervals, and her jaw wasn't set in the "you should know what it is" way. And when he tried to lighten the mood by demonstrating the new trick Sneakoscope George had sent over from the joke shop (the one that spun and whistled when anybody was sitting quietly for more than five minutes at a stretch), she managed a feeble smile.

"There's a note from George with it," said Ron. "'To my favorite sister-in-law (don't tell Fleur): Make sure to look up every so often so you remember what my brother looks like.'"

"He didn't," she said, stretching out a hand for the piece of parchment he was holding.

But he hadn't, so Ron refused to relinquish it.

"Red hair, secondhand robes, face on a Chocolate Frog card…ringing any bells?"

"I remember," she said, and her feeble smile faltered.

He sat down in the chair opposite her, reaching for _The Daily Prophet_ to check the latest Quidditch league standings.

"I never had you to stay," she said, and though he didn't know what she was talking about, it sounded important.

"Maybe not," he said warily, unwilling to commit himself to a response but hesitant to push for clarification just yet. "But you have me to stay now."

"At my parents' house, I mean. I was always coming to see you, but I never…."

He was surprised to see a tear forming. She brushed it away casually, and he acted as though he hadn't seen it.

"Those were good times," he said, but she didn't answer. He sat for a while, thinking over her Burrow visits during their school days, and then he laughed. "You have no idea how confused I was the first time you came through the hall in your pajamas and I _noticed_ them."

"Noticed as in seeing that I was wearing pajamas instead of day clothes, or noticed as in noting that they were red flannel and a little tatty around the neckline?"

He shuddered. "Thank Merlin I haven't had to wear anything like that since..." His jaw dropped. "Hermione Jean Weasley. You've loved me since second year, admit it."

"I notice all sorts of things."

"Which, to you, means love."

She shook her head, but didn't expressly deny anything. "When was this time you were so bewildered by my nightclothes?"

"Round about fourth year, I reckon. Probably the summer before Yule Ball. Made a lot more sense in retrospect."

"You thought about it often?"

"Well, I kept _noticing_ you, didn't I? No matter what you were wearing." He shrugged. "And sometimes, when we weren't in mortal peril, I had time to think about it."

"Ah, so not often," she said, and he was pleased to see her smile was broader this time. "What were these famous pajamas like?"

"Pale yellow shirt, with frilly little sleeves. And shorts to match. I had never seen so much of your legs before."

"What with the school robes, you wouldn't have been likely to. Do you remember, I had mine on in the first few minutes on the train our first year?"

"I wasn't with you those first few minutes," he reminded her, "but I definitely remember you were wearing them by the time you came barging into our compartment and belittling my magical prowess."

Her brow furrowed in displeasure.

"Only joking," he said. "A lot's happened since then. It's a good memory now."

"Memory's a curious thing, isn't it?"

"You'd know best," he said. "What with all the memory charms you…."

She burst into tears.

He started up in dismay and came over to kneel by her chair, pulling her head down to his. Now seemed like a good time to ask what was wrong, so he did.

It came out in pieces, between sobs. She'd had the dream, the same dream that had been recurring at odd intervals for years now and had never been related to anybody else. She'd dreamt of her parents, her parents as they were when they met up with them in Australia, except that instead of having their memories restored, things had gone horribly wrong, and they'd wound up in St. Mungo's with Lockhart, and the only trace left over from their former life was that they kept sending her dental floss for Christmas. (Ron managed to make sympathetic noises instead of laughing.)

"I k-k-killed them," she moaned. "My own parents…."

"You modified their memories, you didn't…."

"And that took away everything that _was_ them. I killed them! _Worse_ than killed them!"

"Hermione," he said, gripping her by the shoulders. "If you insist on believing you killed them, remember at least that you brought them back."

She shuddered, but the crying slowed.

"When I asked your dad if he'd let me marry you, he knew who I was."

She sniffed, and was quiet.

"We had tea with both sets of parents after the engagement, and your mum gave mine her family recipe for cinnamon scones."

She nodded.

"They danced at our wedding."

"That was a good day," she murmured.

"There are loads more good days to come," he said. "And we can share as many of them with your parents as you like."

"They'll never get that year back."

"What, the year their daughter spent roaming the British countryside trying to avoid being tortured by Death Eaters, and not always succeeding? You think they'd have wanted that one?"

She shook her head, brushing the last hints of tears from her eyes.

"Some things are better off staying lost."

"You're good for me, Ronald Weasley."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "your mum and dad wouldn't have let their daughter go with just anybody. Although sometimes I still think your dad was a little afraid to be related to mine...who'd have thought they'd be so inseparable now? It's almost indecent."

"I suppose our parents are good for each other, too."

"They'd have to be," he said. "They're all practically saints, aren't they? There's no other way they could have such perfect children."

Hermione laughed, and any remaining distress melted from her face. She had her mother's laugh, Ron realized. He was glad he had the chance to know that firsthand.


End file.
